


Voicemails to the Dead

by notsomagicath



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (if any of these could hurt you to read PLEASE stay safe), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Touch-Starved, Voicemail, i love them both so much, jerejean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsomagicath/pseuds/notsomagicath
Summary: “Alright, I’m just going to say this straight out. We found Riko Moriyama’s phone.”“Okay.” all the laughter has faded from Jeremy’s voice, “What about it?”“There’s some… messages… that we found. And we thought it would be best to give them to you. Kevin should have emailed you the audio files we extracted just now, and you can give them a listen.”“Messages? What? Neil, what aren’t you telling me?”“They’re… fairly recent. From within the last year. And… they’re from Jean.”





	Voicemails to the Dead

Even in death, the world can’t seem to be rid of Riko Moriyama. 

It’s visible on every person he’s left behind. In Ichirou Moriyama’s meticulous efforts to keep the press far away from Castle Evermore. In the tattoo that Kevin Day knows full well is still under the chess piece. In Neil Josten’s barely perceptible horror every time he catches a glimpse of Ichirou’s distinctly Moriyama features. And most of all, in Jean Moreau’s scars that go so much deeper than anyone could have imagined. 

Jeremy Knox is proud of him. He truly is. Jean is, frankly, the strongest person he knows, and it’s physically impossible for him to resent the trauma that still haunts his every move. The shadow of Riko Moriyama isn’t so easily removed, not when it’s been beaten into him for years until his darkness is sewn under his skin and tugging at the nerves in his brain. And what fills the void when the control is suddenly cut away and there’s nothing left to hold him up? The emptiness fills with the shattered pieces of what’s left. The shards can either come together and build a new frame, or they can tear him apart from the inside with their sharp edges. And Jean is trying so hard to balance himself on a structure of fragments. 

So when Jeremy comes back to find Jean, four months after leaving Evermore, clutching his phone with white-knuckled hands, curled up on his bed, facing away from Jeremy’s side of the room, words like choked sobs forcing their way out of his throat, he begs for whatever tragic twist of fate that had chosen Jean to  _ make it stop. Please.  _

But nothing is that simple. 

Jeremy steadily crosses the room, with deliberately heavy footsteps to keep from taking Jean by surprise, and kneels on the floor in the center of the room, behind Jean’s back. He shifts back slightly to make sure that Jean would be able to tell that he was out of striking range. There’s subtle intricacies to Jean’s demeanor that Jeremy has spent all four months studying. 

“Jean,” he says, making sure his voice carries, but softening the edges of his name. 

The room falls silent, save for Jean’s raspy breaths that even his immense amount of control can’t suppress. 

“Jean,” Jeremy repeats himself, even gentler this time, trying to convey more than should be possible in a single word.  _ You’re safe. I’m here. Come back. He’s dead, and he’ll never touch you again.  _

Slowly, Jean turns onto his back, reaching out with his right hand off the bed to drop his phone onto the floor with a thud that makes both of them wince. His chest still rises and falls at a frantic pace, but his eyes are closed, and there’s no sign of tear tracks down his face. His time at Evermore ensured that. 

“Jeremy,” Jean breathes, his voice shaky, but with the determination of cementing that Jeremy isn’t a figment of his imagination. 

“I’m here.”

Jean carefully relaxes his hand that had previously been holding the phone, and lets out a deep breath with it. Then, almost imperceptibly, his fingertips twitch in Jeremy’s direction, an action so minute that no one should have noticed it. But Jeremy did.  _ He has to. _ If no one else bothered to learn to understand Jean Moreau, he will teach himself until he too can collect the broken shards and hold him together until Jean can do it himself. 

“Jeremy,” this time, his name comes out like a whimper and there is no mistaking it, Jean reaches for him. 

Jeremy rises to his feet, and slowly walks towards the other side of the room, right towards where the pale skin on the inside of Jean’s wrist is turned upwards, the smallest gesture of trust that makes Jeremy’s heart stutter in his chest. He steps closer to the bed and then kneels once again, pressing his right side to the bed, with Jean’s hand at eye level. Jeremy lifts his left hand, allowing his palm to hover just above Jean’s, hesitating. 

Jean’s gray eyes meet Jeremy’s brown, and his chin dips slightly, giving Jeremy the permission he was waiting for. 

Fingertips first, Jeremy slides his hand against Jean’s, the worn calluses from years of holding a racquet sending shivers down his spine, a jolt of energy only amplified by Jean’s quiet sigh at the contact. Once pressed palm-to-palm, Jeremy is sure that his face is completely red, and that Jean is probably questioning his sanity and his health, but he manages to cough out a question.

“This ok?”

“Yes,”  _ God,  _ Jean sounds breathless, and the tips of his ears are turning pink.  _ Is Jeremy overwhelming him? Is this too much? _

He moves as if to pull away, but Jean’s grip tightens slightly, and Jeremy can’t resist him. 

Jeremy turns Jean’s hand in his until it’s tilted palm-down, and Jeremy is only holding his fingers and running the pad of his thumb over his knuckles. They remain in the same position for goodness knows how long until Jean breaks the comfortable silence. 

“Jeremy?” 

“Hmmm?”

“Stay.”

Jeremy ghosts his lips over the back of Jean’s palm, and the touch sends an involuntary full-body shiver through Jean’s body. 

“As long as you need.”

\----------

The last thing Jeremy expects at three in the morning is a call from Neil Josten. As soon as the ringtone goes off, (some remix of Ain’t No Sunshine, Laila thought it was funny) he pounces on his phone in an effort to keep from waking Jean. The dark-haired man stirs for a moment before turning his back to Jeremy, fast asleep. A soft smile tugs at Jeremy’s lips at the idea that Jean is comfortable enough to sleep with his back to him. 

_ I love him.  _

Considering his sleep-addled brain, the thought comes to him with surprising clarity. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it, and definitely not the last, but it’s the first time it’s come into his mind unbidden without any forethought. It’s been almost a year now since Jean joined the Trojans, and even still, there’s the same allure about him that pulled Jeremy to him since the moment they met. And yet, there’s absolutely no way he’d tell him. He wouldn’t force that kind of stress on Jean, not while he’s still figuring himself out. 

“Jeremy? Jeremy, are you there?” Neil’s voice calls through the speaker of his phone.

“Sorry, Neil,” Jeremy says, yawning, “I’m here. What do you need? It’s three AM.”

Neil audibly facepalms on the other side of the line. 

“Right. Sorry. I completely forgot about the time zone difference. It’s six over here, and we’re up for morning practice.” 

“That’s great, Neil, but I’m hoping you called for something other than to tell me about practice?”

“Of course,” Neil pauses to snap at someone in the background, “Yes, I’m telling him. It’s six AM, don’t rush me. I don’t need your shit, Andrew. Fine, go ahead I’ll join you in a minute. Ha ha very funny. Love you.”

“Neil?” Jeremy says, amusement coating his words, “You going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to keep hate-flirting with Minyard?”

Neil coughs, and Jeremy can practically hear him blushing through the phone. 

“Alright, I’m just going to say this straight out. We found Riko Moriyama’s phone.”

“Okay.” all the laughter has faded from Jeremy’s voice, “What about it?”

“There’s some… messages… that we found. And we thought it would be best to give them to you. Kevin should have emailed you the audio files we extracted just now, and you can give them a listen.”

“Messages? What? Neil, what aren’t you telling me?”

“They’re… fairly recent. From within the last year. And… they’re from Jean.”

A cold feeling settles in Jeremy’s gut and threatens to encase him in ice. And then blind panic for Jean’s privacy melts it into a puddle on the floor and makes him a mess of electric sparks.

“Did any of you listen to any of them? Please tell me you didn’t. He- You- Jean-”

“Don’t worry,” Neil reassures him, “He’d sent them anonymously, but once we realized who was speaking in the first one, we shut it off and downloaded them to send to you as soon as we could get a hold of you.” 

“And why should I get them?”

“You’re his captain, and while I don’t think you’re the type to want to hear them…” Neil takes a breath, “I think having a map of the progress he’s made during recovery would be helpful in some way. In what way, I have absolutely no idea. But you know him better than any of us do, and you care about him.” he says the last part in such a matter-of-fact tone that even if Jeremy hadn’t wanted it to be true, he would have believed him. 

Jeremy nods, but then feels stupid. Neil obviously can’t see him through the phone. 

“I do.” 

“We know,” Neil says, “Now, you can share these with him if you like, or you can trash the files and never look at them again, but I’m going to warn you ahead of time, the little bit that I did hear…” he trails off. 

“I got it,” Jeremy sets his jaw, takes a deep breath, “Thank you, Neil. For this.”

“It’s the least I can do. Thank you for taking care of him.”

“He doesn’t need me,” Jeremy automatically protests.  _ He can take care of himself. He’s strong. So much stronger than anyone knows.  _

“Sure, but maybe he wants you, and maybe that’s just as important.” 

With that, Neil hangs up. 

\----------

Jeremy doesn’t open his computer the entire day. 

Though it keeps him far away from the voicemail tapes, it also forces him to answer all of his emails and type all his essays on his phone, a method that Alvarez doesn’t hesitate to make fun of him for. 

“Trying to train your thumbs, Captain?”

“Yes.”

“Laila did you hear that? Oh captain our captain is making sure even his thumbs get a workout!” Alvarez crows, clutching her sides in exaggerated laughter. 

“Laila, your girlfriend is bullying me,” Jeremy whines, though he can’t wipe the smile off his face. 

“Rightfully so,” Laila approaches the two of them, pausing to peck her girlfriend on the cheek, “Who exercises their thumbs?”

“I do, apparently.”

The two of them raise their eyebrows and shake their heads in unison at him before wandering off to join the rest of the Trojans.

“Thumb exercises?” Jean asks, appearing at his side, brushing shoulders with Jeremy as he adjusts the sleeves of his team jacket. 

Jeremy looks at him with barely concealed pride, thinking about just how far he’s come since he left the Ravens, though the jacket is about as bright as Jean would go, clothing wise. And he resolutely ignores the warmth that flares in his shoulder where Jean had touched him. 

“You alright, mon coeur?” Jean asks, hand brushing the outside of Jeremy’s wrist.  _ If only he knew French. _ Jeremy sighs.  _ Jean persists in repeating the same phrase around him, and Kevin and Neil refuse to tell him what it means, even though they clearly know.  _

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” Jeremy says brightly, “Don’t worry about me.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh! I’m fine.” 

Jean frowns, but doesn’t say anything, only tugging lightly on the hem of Jeremy’s sweatshirt to lead them back to their dorm, and of course, Jeremy follows him willingly. He’ll follow him anywhere he asks. 

Jean resolutely leads them over to the foot of Jean’s bed, smoothing the sheets over once before beckoning him over to sit next to him, and Jeremy eases onto the mattress. 

“Why’d you bring me back here?”

“You seem off today, and I thought…” he stops, and his lips twists as if he’s rethinking his sentence. 

“You thought…” Jeremy encourages him, brushing his fingertips over Jean’s shoulder, his breath catching when Jean links his fingers with Jeremy’s to keep his hand there. 

“I thought, maybe, you’d be more comfortable talking about it here,” his eyes flick to their intertwined hands, and his long eyelashes brush the tops of his sharp cheekbones. Jeremy longs to brush his thumb over the tiny sun tattoo that sits just below the shadow of his lashes, right where the three used to be. 

“Thank you, Jean,” Jeremy says under his breath, their proximity to each other eliminating the need to speak any louder, “And, you’re right,” he pauses, “I  _ have _ been off today… here.”

Jeremy stands up, and immediately mourns the loss of Jean’s touch. But still, he’s not going to hide the recordings from him. It’s not fair to him. It’s not right. And there’s no use keeping it from him, especially because he’s the one who made them. 

He crosses the room to open his computer, the cheery red and gold case in stark contrast with the dread that’s starting to leech the joy of the previous moment from him. Jeremy hastily opens his email, and, ever the reliable one, there’s a single email from Kevin Day, with the no-nonsense subject line: Jean’s Voicemails to Riko. 

There’s no content in the email besides twelve audio files, one from every month that Jean had been at USC. Even one from just a little over two weeks ago. Jeremy picks up his computer and carries it over to Jean, who has watched the entire process silently, but with a whole list of questions in his eyes. 

Jeremy can’t find the words to prepare him, so he simply places the laptop flat on Jean’s thighs and sits down next to him, a hair’s breadth away from having their sides pressed together. Jeremy’s presses his hand into the sheets behind Jean and he winds the fabric around his fingers as he studies Jean’s face. 

The dark-haired boy’s already pale face blanches when he reads the title. When he reads the dates on each audio file, his grip tightens on the computer, and when he looks over to see the level expression on Jeremy’s face, his spine straightens, and Jeremy can almost see the walls rebuilding themselves around him. 

“Jean, I-”

“Did you listen to them?” Jean’s voice is completely flat, no emotion whatsoever, but there’s a wave of betrayal threatening to make landfall.

“No, of course not, I-”

“Did anyone else?” his voice sharpens, as if hoping that his words will hit the mark and wound anyone and everyone around him, and put him out of his misery. Or whatever humiliation he‘s anticipating. 

“The foxes listened to the first couple seconds of the first one until they recognized your voice and stopped. They didn’t so much as touch the play button after that.”

“Where did they get it? Where did you?” Jean’s tone is less defensive, and leaning more towards incredulity. 

“Neil didn’t say, but somehow they got their hands on Riko’s phone, and they found the messages and sent them to me.”

Jean stares at him, and Jeremy answers the question before it’s asked.

“I hadn’t even opened the email until now. Neil called this morning to tell them they were sent to me, and that’s the reason I haven’t been using my laptop all day.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I did. I wanted to be absolutely sure that the first time I was anywhere near these was with you.”

“Why?”

The single word sends Jeremy reeling. The honest curiosity in his voice is like a punch to the gut, as if someone twisted his insides into a knot. There’s so many things he wants to say, but words won’t come. But Jean seems to understand and draws back slightly, and Jeremy almost reaches for him. 

“Don’t pity me, Jeremy.”

“I’m not,” 

Maybe it would have been a lie a year ago, but Jeremy is glad to know that he’s being completely honest. The last thing Jean wants is pity, and Jeremy’s well aware of that. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I would never.”

_ Another truth, thank God. _

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” 

“Jean…” Jeremy says softly, treading around the dark-haired boy’s curiosity about his expression, and though he knows full well Jean isn’t going to let the argument drop, he has to make sure Jean understands, “I need you to know that I would never do anything to betray you. I would never willingly do you harm. I care about you, and no matter what, I am here for you.” 

A strangled cry pushes its way through Jean’s lips and immediately his hand moves to cover his mouth, but Jeremy gently pries his fingers away and looks up at Jean. 

Slowly, Jean slips off of the bed, falling to his knees on the floor in front of Jeremy. He places his long, delicate-looking fingers on the patched knees of Jeremy’s worn gray sweatpants and pushes them apart to settle himself between his legs. With Jean’s 6’2” a solid seven inches above his 5’7”, Jeremy, in combination with the height of the mattress, is at just the right height for Jean to press his forehead to the Trojans’ logo on the center of his t-shirt. He can only pull Jean closer as the taller boy brackets his upper arms over Jeremy’s thighs and grapples for a hold on the back of his shirt as he howls. 

It’s so far away from the familiarity of the absentminded touches they shared. So different from the carefully tested movements that they have become accustomed to. 

But there’s something about loving Jean Moreau that makes Jeremy want to take it all in. No questions asked.  _ But that’s not how any of this works.  _

Instead, Jeremy cautiously threads his fingers through Jean’s hair, and Jean reaches up to press down lightly on the back of Jeremy’s right palm in silent confirmation. They cling to each other in near silence, Jeremy winding his hands through Jean’s dark hair, using it as leverage to hold him close, and Jean’s hands wander over Jeremy’s back as he struggles to contain his sobs. 

It barely registers through the tear-soaked fabric of his t-shirt that this is the first time Jeremy has ever seen Jean cry. He’s been there for mental breakdowns and night terrors. He’s held Jean desperately waiting for his screams to stop, or spoken softly in a stream of consciousness in a feeble attempt to bring back Jean from a non-verbal state. But not once has he ever seen a single tear from him, and the enormity of this nearly makes Jeremy burst into tears himself, but  _ no, he has to hold it together, not for his own pride, but for Jean.  _

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when the cries finally subside and Jean’s breathing returns to normal. 

“Hey” Jean says hoarsely, face still wedged against Jeremy’s shirt, his touch relaxing on his back,  _ but he doesn’t let go. _ And it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Hey,” Jeremy replies softly, still twirling a few strands of now-disheveled hair between his fingertips, earning him a watery smile from Jean. 

Jean tilts his chin up to face him, and Jeremy’s breath catches when Jean pulls himself up to press his lips to Jeremy’s collarbone. 

\----------

After that, Jeremy expects for them to just let it go. After a while, he comes to the decision that he should delete the email. Forget the recordings ever existed. If Jean wants his past to stay dead, then let it be buried with Riko’s corpse. 

That’s why Jeremy is completely taken aback when Jean brings it up.

“Mon coeur?” Jean slowly opens the door to their room, wincing when the hinges creak slightly. 

“I’m here,” Jeremy calls absently, staring at the screen of his laptop, his finger hovering over the touchpad, mouth set in a line as he contemplates pressing the button that would completely erase all evidence that the voicemails existed. 

“Do you remember the messages that I… that Neil told you about?”

Jeremy doesn’t have the reflexes to hide his surprise, and Jean’s shoulders tense slightly in preparation to retract the question. Luckily, Jeremy recovers quickly.

“Yes… what about them?”

“I…  _ merde _ … nevermind,” Jean falters, moving as if to leave again. 

“No, tell me. Please. Anything. I promise I’ll listen.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Jean drags his feet slightly as he walks towards where Jeremy is seated on the foot of his bed, his wrinkled sheets in stark contrast to Jean’s immaculate bedspread. 

“You’re worried? What’s the matter?”

Jean inhales sharply and bites his lower lip for a moment before speaking, but when he does, the words swiftly push themselves out. 

“I want you to hear the tapes.”

“I- you-“ Jeremy’s voice cracks, “Are you sure?” 

“Only if you want to,” Jean says earnestly. 

“Only if  _ you  _ want to,” Jeremy returns the words to him, because this isn’t the kind of decision he should be making. 

Jean mumbles something, but it’s not nearly loud enough for Jeremy to understand him.

“Hmmm?”

“I want you to hear them,” Jean murmurs, looking almost shyly at Jeremy from under his long eyelashes, he pauses, and his expression turns serious, “but I can’t be there while you listen. I don’t want to hear myself played back.” 

“That’s completely okay, whatever you need. I’ll leave the room when I listen to them so that I’m not kicking you out of our room.” 

“You don’t need to do that,” Jean protests, “I can figure something out.” 

“No, really, I-“

“Headphones?”

“Right,” Jeremy coughs lightly and rubs his eyes with his right hand.  _ He’d somehow forgotten headphones existed… what’s going on with him?  _ “Let’s do that.” 

Jean places his hand just above Jeremy’s knee cap, and lets his fingers trail over the stitching on the outside edge of his thigh as he stands.  _ This man is going to be the death of him.  _ Jeremy can only manage a gentle smile before Jean is out the door. 

He stares at the list of audio files, not taking his eyes off the screen as he pulls his red on-ear headphones out of his night stand. 

_ A happily ever after starts with once upon a time, so to understand Jean’s happy ending, it’s best to start at the beginning.  _

\----------

The first voicemail is from Jean’s second day at USC. The timestamp places the call at 1:53 AM, a time where Jeremy must have been asleep. 

\----------

_ Riko… je… toi… putain… MERDE… NO NO, wait, please,  _ a shriek of agony cuts through the shattered speech,  _ please, no, I didn’t mean to. Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me.  _ The muffled sound of a punch and a soft grunt of pain makes Jeremy come to a sharp realization with a jolt. There’s no one there but Jean’s own fist to punch him, and a wave of nausea and grief for Jean slaps him across the face.  _ WHY,  _ Jean’s voice breaks,  _ WHY DID YOU GO? You never cared about me, and I knew, I know full well. But what am I supposed to do when you aren’t here? DIEU, WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE TAKEN ME WITH YOU? If you were going to die, what's the point of leaving me behind?? I CAN’T FUNCTION WITHOUT YOU HERE. I DON’T BELONG HERE. WHAT’S LEFT FOR ME TO DO BUT DIE? HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME. COME BACK AND TAKE ME WITH YOU. PLEASE.  _ The audio ends with Jean breaking down entirely and sobbing wildly until the moment that Jeremy assumes the phone died.

\----------

The second is exactly a month later, to the day. 12:04 AM. Once again, Jeremy must have been sleeping too deeply to hear it. The third, another month later, at 1:19. By now, he’s caught the pattern. Even through his shaky recovery, Jean made sure to keep track of where he was. Each one is tragically similar to the first. Each one calling for Riko to come back, to put him back on a shaky frame and shatter him over and over again. Or to take Jean with him and let it all be over. And each and every time, Jeremy’s heart breaks for him. But in spite of how much he wants to stop listening and throw the recordings into a bonfire, he has to continue. As soon as he reaches the fourth, however, he stops short. The recorded time is 4:39 PM. During the day. At a time when Jeremy is almost always at home. At a time where he could have been overheard. Not to mention, it’s three days before the month would have been over and the voicemail would have been right on time. 

\----------

_ Please.  _ Jeremy notes that this time, the message is softer, slightly more subdued, Jean’s voice sounding as if he’d been crying for a while before he even pressed record.  _ You never understood me, Riko. You never tried. And I never expected you do. I am nothing but a trade. A debt that my family owed yours. I come from nothing, and I fell to nothing in the middle of the most prestigious team to ever play exy. Beside you. And I come back from nothing. Or at least I’m trying to.  _ A sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper breaks through the monotone voice of the audio.  _ Everyone’s been telling me that I’m worth something, but there’s always you in the back of my mind to tell me that I made a horrible mistake leaving Evermore. That I’m worthless. That I don’t deserve to live. And for some fucked up reason… it’s your voice I believe over theirs. Why…? WHY…? I-  _ Jean’s incomplete sentence dissolves into shaky breaths, the tears already spent and long dried up. 

_ Jean.  _ Jeremy sits up straighter when he hears his own voice faintly in the recording.  _ Jean,  _ his voice repeats, softer this time. 

_ Jeremy,  _ Jean’s voice returns, near breathless from weeping, and past Jeremy answers. 

_ I’m here.  _

Suddenly, he remembers.

The first day Jean let him close to him. The first day Jean asked him to stay. 

_ This ok? _

_ Yes. _

There’s a long pause, and Jeremy checks once to make sure that’s not the end of it. He jumps slightly when the audio continues.

_ Jeremy? _

_ Hmmm? _

_ Stay. _

_ As long as you need.  _

The last sounds of the recording are Jean’s slowing breaths as he falls asleep. 

\----------

The fifth message is exactly a month after the fourth, right back on schedule again. However, the tone is entirely different. This time, Jean’s wobbly voice steadies, his volume rises, and his words turn from pleading to harsh, as if he hopes to rip Riko apart from the other side. 

\----------

_ Look what you’ve done. All of it. I don’t give a shit if you’re dead, buried, and rotting in the ground, but you need to hear this. And I want you to hear it from me. You ruined so fucking much of the world around you. Everything you touched withered and died. Or so you thought. Listen to me, Riko Moriyama, and let me list everything that you’ve done to me, to everyone that I care about, to everything you decided you wanted to destroy.  _

_ Kevin told me that Thea has caught him tracing a 2 over his chess piece tattoo during his night terrors. He avoids the number in elevator buttons, on price tags, and he left the room when a freshman came in with the #12 jersey.  _

_ Neil flinches every time he sees Ichirou’s face. He won’t travel in pairs like we did, unless it’s with Andrew. He wakes up from nightmares and doesn’t know what date it is because in his worst imagination, the world runs on Raven time and shorter days. _

_ And me?  _ Jean stops and laughs humorlessly before continuing.  _ My hands shake when I reach for my racquet every practice. I backhanded Alvarez the first time she put her hand on my shoulder. I insulted Laila when she asked me how my day was, for fear that she would hit me for a wrong answer. When I walk outside, I scan the area for black clothing first, and if I find it, there you are again, pressing on my ribs until I’m convinced my lungs will give out on me. And because of you, I wait for my roommate to fall asleep before I do, because I can’t be left defenseless, even around the so called Captain Sunshine.  _

_ You have taken everything from me. From us. And you will pay for it, I promise, whether I have to pull you from the grave to fulfill it. I hate you, Riko Moriyama, and I hate that you’re dead. I hate that I didn’t kill you myself.  _

\----------

It’s horrifying that Jean found enough material to continue the list for the next three more voicemails, and worse, each time, the resentment only grows. The list becomes longer, the items more minute, but the sheer magnitude of the horrors wrought by Riko Moriyama’s insatiable sadism boils Jeremy’s blood to dark smoke and makes him grab the tissue box on his nightstand and shred a handful of them into tiny pieces because he can’t afford to punch a wall or tear up his sheets. 

He clicks onto the ninth, and braces himself, but there is a noticeable shift in his message once again. Jean’s words carry a resigned air, one of near acceptances, and Jeremy can almost hear the wistful smile that Jean is surely making as he speaks. Reflexively, Jeremy mirrors the same expression on his own. 

\----------

_ Three weeks ago, I covered up the 3 tattoo. A little sun. My own little light to drown out the dark. Now, I’m not afraid of looking at myself in the mirror. I’m not afraid and you didn’t make me.  _

_ Two weeks ago, I went shopping for a birthday present for Laila, and Alvarez told a joke as we walked. I laughed with her. I didn’t hide from laughter, and you didn’t make me. _

_ One week ago, I let myself change in my dorm with Jeremy in the room. It’s the first time I’ve ever changed clothes with someone else turned towards me. I told him he didn’t have to turn around. I wasn’t ashamed of my scars and you didn’t make me. _

_ I didn’t flinch today. Jeremy put his arm around my shoulders and I didn’t push him away. I didn’t flinch and you didn’t make me.  _

_ There’s so many things that have changed, Riko. So many things that I never imagined for myself. So many things that make me want to forget life without them.  _

_ I don’t forgive you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. But I’m going to tell you everything about how my life is so much better without you, and I’ll do it until it all runs out or until I find it in me to stop sending these to you. Until then, Riko. I’m recovering, and you can’t stop me.  _

\----------

As the audio closes, Jeremy’s chest is tight and he’s on the verge of tears. As he continues listening through the tenth and eleventh, and he grins widely at the screen as Jean’s lilting accent grows stronger as his excitement grows over all the things he’s managed to do. 

The amount of joy that Jean gets from even the little things, like sitting on a couch full of people, or wearing a bright eye-catching sweater outside, gives Jeremy no uncertain amount of pleasure for what it took for Jean to make it here. And with every recording, Jeremy is reminded with startling clarity just how absolutely gone he is for Jean. 

Maybe it’s the subtle delight that intensifies with every little success. Maybe it’s the pride in Jean’s voice whenever he mentions any of his teammates. Maybe it’s the fact that Jeremy is mentioned at least twice in each one.

When he clicks on the last one, there’s a strangely melancholic feeling that, for all he knows, this could he the last time he’s let into Jean’s confidence. Jean owes Jeremy nothing. He’s not obligated to share any of his thoughts. And yet, there’s an intimacy to Jean willingly sharing the messages that Jeremy is going to miss. 

\----------

_ This is the last voicemail.  _

_ There’s more for me to say, and there’s so much that is yet to come, but I don’t have to report to you anymore. I’ve never had to report to you, and it’s taken me this long to accept it. You will never have a hold on me again. You will never hurt me again. You’re dead. You have been for a year, and you’ll stay that way. And you’ll go to hell all by yourself, because there’s too much for me here to leave.  _

_ I have Alvarez and Laila. Their jokes, their laughter, their love, both for each other and for me. I have Neil and Renee. Their support, their understanding, their kindness. I have Kevin, and the bond of a shared experience that promises to melt us down and forge us stronger. I have Jeremy and his sunshine. He is my heart, mon coeur, and I love him, and you’ll never take him away from me.  _

_ Most importantly, I’ve found, I have myself. I am strong. I’m still recovering, but I don’t need you, and I’ll never need you again. _

_ I am my own. _

_ Au revoir, Riko.  _

\----------

Jeremy slowly takes his headphones off and places them on the bed in front of him. 

_ I’m still recovering, but I don’t need you and I’ll never need you again. I have Jeremy and his sunshine. He is my heart, mon coeur, and I love him, and you’ll never take him away from me.  _

_ I love him. I love him. I love him.  _

He shoves his headphones back onto his head and plays the last seven sentences over and over until he longs to have the words tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. 

Finally, he manages to tear his eyes away from the glow of the screen, and his gaze immediately finds the other side of the room. 

Only to find Jean looking back at him. 

His gray eyes are studying him carefully, and there’s an unintelligible range of emotions behind them. But he doesn’t say anything, even with Jeremy’s eyes on him.

_ It’s as if he’s waiting. _

“Jean…” Jeremy whispers hoarsely. In the silence of the room, even the softest sounds are deafening. There’s so many things he wants to say, so many words that won’t come out, but there’s one question that pushes its way through the blur of emotions and shines brightly in comparison to all others. “You love me?”

Jean’s contemplative stare softens into a tentative smile and Jeremy’s pretty sure he stops breathing. 

“ _ Oui- _ yes,” Jean murmurs, and he quickly notices the shock and unreadable mess of thoughts in Jeremy’s expression and quickly continues, “You don’t have to say it back.” 

“Jean Moreau,” Jeremy begins slowly, tears slowly spilling down his face, the corners of his lips turning up higher with every word, “I am completely, unapologetically, in love with you.” 

Jeremy chews on his bottom lip and stills his hands by gripping the sheets as Jean crosses the room until he’s standing right in front of him. Instinctively, Jeremy’s knees part until Jean is standing between them, and not once do they take their eyes off each other. 

The pad of Jean’s thumb delicately comes to rest on Jeremy’s lip, gently tugging it free from where Jeremy’s been biting it. From that singular point, heat spreads through Jeremy, making him flush to the tips of his ears, and pooling in his gut, and only intensifies when Jean presses their foreheads together. 

The steady warmth bursts into flame when Jeremy tilts his head slightly to take Jean’s bottom lip between his. 

Jean gasps against his mouth, and Jeremy shifts as if to pull away, but Jean lifts his hands to cup Jeremy’s face, holding him in place. 

Jeremy chases the salt of his tears on Jean’s lips and Jean returns the kiss with equal intensity, tenderly wiping away the last few droplets caught in Jeremy’s eyelashes. It’s slightly uncomfortable, with Jean towering above Jeremy’s seated frame, but he shivers when Jeremy’s fingertips stray to the waist and ties of his sweatpants, and before Jeremy can stop and ask, he takes a hold of his wrists and places them just above his hips, slipping under his sweatshirt. 

Eventually, Jeremy pulls away for a moment to catch his breath, falling backwards onto the mattress. Jean follows after him, stealing one more kiss before resting on his forearms above Jeremy. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red and kiss-bitten, his chest is heaving, and he’s looking at Jeremy with clear and absolute adoration. 

_ Jean looks as if he’s staring into the sun and daring the light to blind him. Jeremy hopes he knows that all the light he sees is his own being reflected back at him.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you loved reading this piece as much as I loved writing it! (This story is very near and dear to my heart.) If you want to chat with me or even just come say hi, I'm on Tumblr @youve-cath-to-be-kitten-me!


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